


The Last Days

by wholockian151



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blood and Gore, F/M, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Violence, Zombie!lock, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-01-12 18:17:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1194831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholockian151/pseuds/wholockian151
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>18 days and more than half of the human race has turned.<br/>It starts with a bite.<br/>Then they collapse.<br/>Twitch, thrash,<br/>Growl, and get up.<br/>They move, amble around hunting for human flesh to dig their mouths in.<br/>Only 18 days and John and Sherlock are surviving. For now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Day

“Sherlock? Sherlock, we’re going to be late!” John called from the living room, talking about the party Greg had invited them to. It was almost 9:00 and it would be starting soon. He sighed as he picked up stray dishes and walked to the kitchen.  
“I’m in my room,” Sherlock replied. John put the dishes down and started towards Sherlock's bedroom, but not before tripping over various science equipment and cursing at the dead body parts on the table. "What is it?" John asked as he entered the room.  
“John, look at this,” Sherlock said as he hurried John over to the window. John looked out and saw a man around his twenties, just lying there on the pavement below.  
“Sherlock. WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WENEEDTOGOHELPHIM!” John exclaimed in panic, rushing towards the door. Sherlock pulled him back and said, “Look again before you go rushing off!” Sherlock pulled a hesitant John over to the window once more. The man appeared to be foaming in the mouth and twitching, thrashing really, and slowly got up. It seemed to struggle a bit, but got up none the less, and started shuffling across the street. John looked up the road and saw a truck barrelling towards the guy, without any signs of slowing down. Oh god, John thought and looked away.  
BU-BUMP! Sherlock watched in fascination as the truck driver ran over the man. He watched as the truck driver drove away, his back tires screeching as he swerved to miss a street lamp leaving the man in the street split in half, with his intestines squashed and flattened out of his mangled body. Sherlock watched as the man (the top half) slowly look up and started groping towards the other side of the road. John looked hesitantly at the damage, and stared in horror at the… thing… on the street. No person could ever survive that without screaming or at least reacting to the pain. The guy didn’t even look bothered…..  
“John… I wouldn’t be rushing out there to help him if I were you,” Sherlock looked at John as he looked at the body in horrified confusion.  
“Fuck off, I’m going to go help!” John exclaimed in exasperation, and walked out of the flat and to the street.


	2. The Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 18 days and more than half of the human race has turned.  
> It starts with a bite.  
> Then they collapse.  
> Twitch, thrash,  
> Growl, and get up.  
> They move, amble around hunting for human flesh to dig their mouths in.  
> Only 18 days and John and Sherlock are surviving. For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will try to update weekly!

John quickly ran out of the flat and to the street, looking both ways in case another idiot would be driving this late at night. He ran over to the man split in half on the street, and gently lifted his head. “Arghhahh!” The man’s top half lunged at John, grabbing at his shirt and face, trying to… bite him? Yes, the man was trying to pull John towards his mouth. “Ahh!” John tried to pull away but the man had a death grip on him. In the struggle, John didn’t notice the slam of the door or Sherlock calling out to him. Then John saw something swing down beside him and the grip on his shirt broke. There stood Sherlock, breathing heavily, wielding the cane John had used when he broke his leg last year. He had hit the man’s arm.  
“John! Are you alright?” asked Sherlock, pulling John up and staring at the man.  
“I’m fine,” John mumbled, clearly shaken. As Sherlock observed the man, it groped for the edge of his coat, growling.  
“What is it?” John wondered aloud. Sherlock, without hesitation, brought the cane swinging down upon the man’s head. CRUNCH. The cane cracked through the skull, squishing the brain into the ground, blood starting to pool around his head. Sherlock pulled John away from the man and said, “Mycroft said the government had to deal with this sort of thing before. The living dead. He didn’t say much other that they covered it up quickly, killing everyone that was infected. They never found a cure, but let’s hope the government is handling it right now.”  
“So you’re saying that we leave this event behind us and just get on with our normal lives? Go to Greg’s party and just ignore that you killed a man?” John asked staring accusingly at Sherlock.  
“Yes. But technically the man was already dead, and he wanted to be dead. Scars on his wrists were a couple months fresh.”  
“Of course,” John sighed.  
“The government took care of it before, so it will be okay-” Sherlock started.  
“No it’s not okay! Even if he was already dead, you killed him permanently, now! What the hell?! There are… are… ‘zombies’ roaming London!” John screamed at Sherlock, while Sherlock stood still, no emotions portrayed on his face.  
“I’ll inform Mycroft if that will make you feel better that they are taking care of it,” Sherlock said.  
“Oh, fuck it, let’s just go to the party.”  
***  
Loud music greeted Sherlock and John as they entered Greg Lestrade’s house. In one corner was a table with chips and beers with a few people chatting there, in another corner was a couple grossly making out, and all around were people talking and dancing and partying.  
“Ah, it’s amazing what alcohol can do to people!” Sherlock said as Greg came sliding down the stairs on the back of some guy who had passed out. THUMP! The guy’s head hit the bottom step, flipped over, sending Greg flying into the table of chips and drinks, scattering the people who were chatting there. Everything was quiet. Then Greg’s head popped up. “YEAH!” he screamed and everyone cheered. Well, everyone except Sherlock and John. John was still too confused and upset to be thinking of anything else than the ‘zombie’, and Sherlock only came to these parties because John liked them, so he didn’t care much what happened around him.  
Sherlock looked over at John, who was sitting there staring into space with a terrified look on face.  
“John, go party. Drink. Talk with girls. Go be the stereotypical teenage boy,” Sherlock told John after about half an hour into the party.  
“You know what? Fine. Ok. Sounds good,” and then John left Sherlock to meander over to the table (which had been replaced) and picked up a beer. Greg came rushing in and yelled, “Somebody just crashed a car into the kitchen!” and rushed back out. Everybody started cheering and ran into the kitchen. John decided to follow.  
***  
At about 1 o’clock in the morning, John stumbled over to Sherlock, drunk out of his mind, and tried to sit down but missed the chair.  
“Someone brought in a raccoon which destroyed the whole dining room!” said an overly enthusiastic John once he finally sat on the chair. “It was crazy!”  
Sherlock looked at the time, deemed fit that it was time to go, helped up a drunken, giggling John, and started to leave. John kept bumping into things, so Sherlock bent down a bit so John could put his arm around him.  
“Your hair is so bouncy,” John giggled, playing with Sherlock’s curls. "Whee.." Almost to the door, Sherlock heard a loud commotion behind him.  
“AHHHH!” a girl screamed. Sherlock brushed it off as a prank, but then more people started screaming, pushing themselves to the door. Real terror locked on their faces, running from something. The music stopped when someone tripped over the table with the music player and the screams could be heard even louder. Loud growling and yells could be heard from the wrecked dining room. Rips like flesh being torn from bone…..  
Not here, Sherlock thought desperately as a zombie stumbled into the room.


	3. The Attack Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party is over, and John and Sherlock are safe, but a new threat is approaching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look! 971 words! Holy shit, sorry this took so long. I have no idea what I'm doing, but I am not giving up on this fic.

“John, we’re going home. Right now,” Sherlock said, pulling John along through the door and ignoring the screams inside Greg’s house. People were pushing John and Sherlock, trying to get away. John was tripping over every single rock and crack on the sidewalk, even with Sherlock practically lifting him, but they got home in little time.

“Okay John, you stay here and don’t go outside,” Sherlock ordered. “I mean it,” John smiled. Sherlock continued, “I need to… run some errands.”

“Okee dokie,” John giggled. Sherlock grabbed the cane and ran back to Greg’s house.

***

The house was in ruins. The door was broken off its hinges, some walls were ripped and broken through, and debris lay across the whole lawn. Greg’s parents won’t be happy when they come back. Sherlock carefully walked across the yard, stepping over debris. He walked through the doorway, tapping the floor loudly to attract the zombie if it was still here. Nothing. So just in case it was still there, Sherlock walked into the living room searching for any signs that it hadn’t left.

“Grraargh” then the sound of ripping flesh. The smell of blood filled the air, and Sherlock gagged slightly. It was still alive, alright. He looked over to the broken coffee table where the noise had come from. The living room was dark, but Sherlock could just make out the shape of the zombie. The zombie was eating someone’s remains. Sherlock came closer, undetected by the zombie and saw that the boy he killed was Greg Lestrade. Thinking his work here was done, Sherlock wiped the cane on the blanket draped over the floor and walked back through the ruined doorway. A few growls could be heard from upstairs, but Sherlock had already left.

***

Back at the flat, John patiently waited for Sherlock’s return. Feeling a churning in his stomach, he staggered over to the bathroom and threw up in the toilet. Over and over, chucks of snacks from the party and amber liquid came up and splooshed into the toilet. After some minutes, the vomiting stopped so John rolled over onto his side beside the toilet. He made a face at the acidic aftertaste in his mouth and then decided that he needed to get up and wander aimlessly around. So he did. During his wandering, he wandered into Sherlock’s rarely used bedroom and then wandered into the kitchen and fell down. He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling, contemplating the wonders of the universe and if they had any jam.

***

Click-click.

CREAK. Footsteps.

“John?”

“Mmm” “

You should go to bed.”

“Mmhmkay.”

“You’re not going to, are you.”

“Mm-mm”

A sigh. “Good night, John.”

***

John Watson opened his eyes and bright sunlight made him close them in pain. “Ohhh no,” he moaned, feeling the beginnings of a hangover starting, then rushed clumsily to the bathroom and spewing bits of un-digested food into the toilet. After he finished, he washed his face and shuffled into the kitchen to start making some tea.

“Ah! Good morning, John!” Sherlock chirped from his spot at the table. “Get dressed, we need to go to the store. For milk. And food.”

John groaned. “Sherlock, I have a hangover and I feel like shit. I’m not going anywhere,” he put the tea bag in a mug, “If you need milk and food that bad you can go without me,” and poured the boiling water into the cup.

“But John!” Sherlock whined. “It’s for a case!”

John sighed, feeling anger bubble up inside him. “Of course it is. Every time you need me is for the cases. ‘Come on! We need food! For a case!’ ‘Come on! We need to go to the tube for a case!’ It’s ‘for a case!’ this and ‘for a case’ that. Why can’t you just let me get better and do your cases without me?!” he exclaimed, and took his tea back to his room, ending the conversation. Sherlock looked alarmed at the sudden outburst. He didn’t usually get upset about the cases, and he would always get over it soon. He shrugged. “I’ll go now, then,” Sherlock called, and put on his scarf and coat, then walked down the stairs. I havn’t seen Mrs. Hudson lately, he thought. A quick visit wouldn’t hurt. Just to check if she's alright. He padded over to her flat and knocked on the door. “Mrs. Hudson?” he called. A thumping noise came from inside. Then a louder thump. A dragging sound. “Mrs. Hudson?” he opened the unlocked door.

“Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson cried out. “Help me barricade this door! Quickly!” Mrs. Hudson was dragging the table over to the back door of her kitchen and was piling things up on it.

“What’s going on?” he questioned, pulling a chair over and shoving it under the table.

“I don’t know! I opened the door because I heard a racket out there, and this… man lunged at me! I pushed him off and through the door and I don’t know why he was doing it!” she sounded exasperated. Growls could be heard from behind the door. More thumping ensued.

“Mrs. Hudson, I need you to come with me. That isn’t a man out there,” Sherlock started explaining, pulling Mrs. Hudson out of her flat and told her, “Wait here. I need to get John and we need to leave this place before more of them come. They will break down that door without hesitation and kill you.” With that, he ran upstairs and burst into John’s room.

“What the hell!” John yelled as Sherlock pulled him from his bed. “John, shut up! We need to leave. Now!” Sherlock barked, when a loud banging and the sound of many things toppling over came from downstairs.

“Oh no,” Sherlock started, knowing that the zombies had broken through the barrier.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Hudson's flat has been attacked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god I'm so so sososososososooooooo sorry for taking this long ;-;  
> Real life got in the way, and I had literally no idea where to go with this and this chapter is only like 700 words so sorry it's short as fuck but I love you all and I apologise again

“What the hell?!” John yelled as Sherlock dragged him from his bed.  
Sherlock quickly explained in exasperation, “Zombie broke into Mrs. Hudson’s flat and now we all have to leave,” and grabbed his and John’s coat, then dragged John out the door.  
Oh right, John thought, Zombies. The events from the day before rushed back to him, sending more spikes of pain to his head. Ow, he clutched his head in pain, trying not to look at light. A scream from downstairs brought his head up. Mrs. Hudson!  
“Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock called out, and promptly pulled John faster down the stairs. When they reached the bottom, John doubled over and clutched his head in pain. Sherlock, seeing that John would be of no use because of his stupid hangover, pushed him over to the side and ran to Mrs. Hudson.  
Mrs. Hudson was fending off the zombie with an umbrella, pushing it away by the neck, but it was becoming a losing battle. Sherlock grabbed a chair by the door and hit the zombie across the head, knocking it away from Mrs. Hudson. The zombie lunged again at her and raked its nails across her arm before she could pull back. Sherlock brought the chair crashing down on the zombie’s head, and as it fell to the ground, it noticed John sitting in the corner. As quickly as it could manage, it started pulling itself towards John, but Sherlock swung the chair again down at the zombie and crushed it through the head, splattering it’s brains all around Sherlock’s ankles.  
Sherlock didn’t miss a step, dropping the chair and getting over to Mrs. Hudson.  
“Are you alright?” he asked, knowing full well that she wasn’t alright, she would need medical attention but the doctors can’t do anything about it. She was infected.  
“Oh I’m fine, dear. But I think might need stitches.” Mrs. Hudson’s arm was sliced in a jagged line all the way from the elbow to the wrist. It was deep, blood was already spilling it’s way down her arm and dripping on the floor. Sherlock analysed all the things he would need to stop her from turning fast. They need to die, first. The infection will kill them slowly, painfully, but when they do die they have a very short time span before the infection takes over completely.  
Bandages, stitches, pills. Sherlock’s brain was racing, figuring out how to keep Mrs. Hudson live for a long as possible. That should do, but she won’t have much time.  
Sherlock heard a noise from behind him and spun around to find John struggling to his feet. He rushed forward and helped him up the rest of the way. John swore when he saw Mrs. Hudson.  
“Oh god, Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock, she’ll need stitches,” John stumbled forward and carefully took Mrs. Hudson’s arm in his hands and examined it. “Sherlock, you keep this arm elevated and get her sat down. I’m going to get some bandages and some string and a needle. We’re going to patch her up.”  
***  
“Mrs. Hudson’s out from the pills right now,” John said, sitting down on his chair in the living room. His hangover was nearly completely gone, but the press of a headache was continuous in the back of his skull. The late afternoon sun was very bright through their window, so he got up and closed the blinds.  
Sherlock was spread out on the couch, fingers steepled under his chin. “We should probably stock up on supplies. I feel that this ‘outbreak’ is going to last longer than a few days,” he said. “We need to leave as soon as possible.”  
“Why can’t you go, and I stay here with Mrs. H?” asked John. Sherlock un steepled and looked over and gave him the how-can-you-be-so-stupid look.  
“If we separate, there is a higher chance we will be separated for longer than necessary. Zombie surprise attacks, zombies blocking the only passage back, zombies killing you because you didn’t have any back-up. Possibilities that all end bad.”  
John sighed. Sherlock was right.  
“Okay, well, I’ll wait for Mrs. H to wake up then see her condition, and we’ll go from there okay?” said John, giving Sherlock the ‘patients come first’ look.  
Sherlock re steepled, “Okay.”


	5. not actually a chapter

Hello sorry to bother you but to whoever was reading this and left lovely kudos, ilysm. but I write like absolute shit so I will not be continuing this fanfic. If you would be interested in continuing it, please contact me at castielsfallenbrokenwings.tumblr.com . I have some main idea to what i would like to happen, but if you don't like that, please do what you want with it.   
Now you may return to your regular fanfic searching.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! If anyone wants to beta (is that what reviewing and reading means on here?) the next part of this fic just inbox my tumblr at antisocial-fallen-angel because I suck at writing and I need second opinions, or comment here.


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